Better Flying Than Falling
by The Arthurian Prat's Folly
Summary: post 7.16, case!fic, multichapter. - Just after dealing with the cursed objects and ensuing Leviathan problem, Sam and Dean linger in Portland for another week to deal with a possible haunted hotel. However, things get rough when Lucifer decides to have some fun with Sam's already messed-up head...
1. Chapter 1

Hey, all! Folly here, with a brand new story for y'all. ;) It's my first multichapter, so... /crosses fingers/ Let's hope it turns out alright!

Bit of an AU from the episode, in which the brothers drive the little U-Haul trailer full of cursed objects away themselves.

**Title:** Better Flying Than Falling  
**Summary: **post-7.16, case!fic, multichapter. - Just after dealing with the cursed objects and ensuing Leviathan problem, Sam and Dean linger in Portland for another week to deal with a possible haunted hotel. However, things get rough when Lucifer decides to have some fun with Sam's already messed-up head...  
**Tags:** Sam!whump, protective!olderbrother!Dean, no romance, no slash. A bit of swearing, some blood, but no guts or anything ^^

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, not mine. Sigh...

* * *

It was a sunny day in Portland; a rare occurence for the city, and something the locals were clearly alienated by. Dean rolled his eyes at the antics of the strange Oregonians, scuttling about and playing in the water fountains as if it was the only chance they were ever going to get. _Honestly, did these people live in constant snow?_

"No, that would be rain," came the correction, making the hunter start, nearly kicking the truck they were driving. (Stupid thing. He hated it.) He was confused for a moment as to how the voice had known his thoughts, before realizing he'd voiced his exasperated observation aloud. He turned to the source of the remark with a scowl.

"Well it's ridiculous," he grouched. "They should all pack up and move to California."

Sam simply raised an eyebrow at his older brother before turning back to his newspaper with a flourish of the creaseless pages, sitting back against the car. In one hand he held aloft the Sunday news, the other clasped tight around a steaming cup of Seattle's Best coffee. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, Sammy, you're gonna OD on caffiene at some point. And then where will I be?"

Sam didn't even spare him an indignant look. "Pissed, no doubt, but otherwise healthy. You could take a trip to San Diego." He flashed him a half-hearted smile.

Dean scoffed. "Without my little brother to get between me and a hot chick? Sounds nice. But first things first." He turned to Sam with a slightly more serious expression. "Why the hell are we here again?"

"To enjoy the beautiful weather?" Sam shot back, all cheek. "Or because we just got done dumping those cursed objects with the hunter in Forest Grove?"

"Right. Whatever. Is there a job or what?"

The younger Winchester sighed with mock grief. "No vacations for us. Yeah, there's a job - of sorts."

"Of sorts?" Dean repeated skeptically. "Could you be more cryptic, please?"

"We got rid of the cursed object load," he hedged back. "I don't know why you think we need to busy ourselves with something else so soon."

"You know what- give me that." Dean snatched the newspaper away before Sam could protest, scanning the title with sharp green eyes. "'Visiting Tourist Hangs Self in Hotel Room'? Sammy, how is this a job? It's not even first page material." He flipped the pages around, rolling his eyes at what _had_ made the front page - walking cats instead of dogs in the park. Seriously? The city was chock-full of nutjobs.

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. There are some old legends about the Heathman - some guy jumped to his death and cursed all the rooms he fell past. Could be worth a look."

"But the guy _jumped_. Why would he hang this other one?"

"I don't know!" Sam's hands twitched upwards, and his lip curled in anger. "You're the one who wanted a case, so do it or don't."

Dean shrank back a little bit. "Woah, okay, man. Calm down. Think you mighta had a little too much Joe, huh?"

Sam rubbed his face wearily. "Sorry- it's just... sorry. Lucifer's been yelling 'Stayin' Alive' at me all morning, and I think I have it memorized," he added the last part quietly.

His older brother wrinkled his brow, quickly growing more concerned. "You try your hand trick?" Much as he hated seeing Sam in pain, the soreness of his scarred palm was much preferable than his little brother having to deal with the Devil screaming in his ear.

"Yeah." Sam's weariness was bone-deep, his eyes dull with exhaustion. "Doesn't work anymore."

Okay, that was a new development for the eldest Winchester. "Since when does that not work?" He could hear his voice grow sharp with the demand, but anxiety was starting to get the better of him.

Sam shrugged, turning away to focus in on the newspaper again. "So, you wanna check out the Heathman or not?"

Dean bristled with his poor evasion tactics, but played along reluctantly. "... Yeah, sure. Why the hell not."

Sam didn't wait any longer, sliding off the hood and clambering into the passenger seat awkwardly, settling down and closing his eyes with a poorly concealed wince. Dean watched him with narrowed eyes through the windshield, until the younger brother noticed his absence and cracked open one eye, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Lamenting - not for the first time, and certainly not for the last - at the stubbornness of little brothers, Dean climbed into the truck and revved the engine.

_Maybe this job will do him some good. Give him something to focus on other than Lucifer's singing._

God, he hoped it was true.

* * *

Sorry for that super-short prologue. I'll slam some more out later tonight. ^^

Thanks for reading! R&R and concrit appreciated.

- Folly


	2. Chapter 2

Oh my gosh, the love I've gotten for this story already makes me happy as can be! *^* You guys made my day!

Thanks to mara-isamoose, CandyCakes, kellywinchester, K Hanna Korossy, and Jkf340 for favoriting/following!

And thank you to Guest, who was the first to review this story- albeit anonymously. Your feedback was much appreciated! Fear not, there is hurt!Sam and protective!Dean aplenty to come... though I am afraid things won't get serious until next chapter. I can't wait to write it.

* * *

"Where are we supposed to park?"

It was an idle question, one that slipped past his lips quite accidentally, but Sam instantly regretted it as it was the proverbial stick poking the bear's side. Dean's eyes narrowed; eyebrows lowered; shoulders hunched, and the fire in his gaze made even Sam shrink back a bit in wariness.

"Oops," Satan giggled in the backseat. "Don't remind Dean of how much he hates Portlanders."

_Too late, _the younger Winchester lamented.

"This whole fucking town is CRAZY!" Dean exploded, slamming the side of his palm against the steering wheel and taking no notice of the stinging pain. They were currently sitting still, inching forward oh-so-slowly in a loooong line of cars backed up ten streets along Sixth Avenue. All they needed was to turn right- but unfortunately the turn-right streets were every other cross-street, and sometimes every second or third cross-street, and they were two blocks off from theirs.

It didn't help that it was around the time school lets out and there were gaggles of random students at every other bus stop. Personally Sam thought the Trimet system was great, most cities didn't have public transport of any kind, but Dean most definitely did not share in his sentiments.

"This is ridiculous," he fumed, and his brother imagined he could see the smoke pouring out of his ears.

He flinched and looked away when Lucifer read his thoughts and set Dean's hair on fire.

The elder Winchester was too angry to care, however, and after another age waiting in the traffic back-up he pulled into a parking building and threw a tenner at the attendant, giving him the most furious glare the poor man had probably ever seen and screeching off to park haphazardly on the second level.

"Alright, let's go," he grumbled, getting out of the tiny truck they were forced to drive and dusting off his suit grumpily.

Sam took a moment longer, the size of the car really not working for his size, and winced as he unfolded all of his lanky limbs from their cramped imprisonment. "We need a new car," he groaned, stretching backwards and sighing in satisfaction when a dozen loud pops answered his movement.

Dean made a face. "We already _have_ a good car," he grumped, the reminder of the Impala that they couldn't drive not helping to better his mood. "C'mon, let's go." He stomped towards the stairs.

Sam followed, not sparing a second glance for Lucifer, who was trundling along beside him scrunched into a tiny plastic toy car, like what kids 'drive' around in on their suburban blocks.

_Beep beep._

"Hi-ho, Sammy! Let's go get that ghost!"

* * *

Though they'd finally found their parking spot, the Heathman was still four blocks away, and Sam and Dean made a peculiar sight walking down the sidewalk with stiff postures and stormy faces.

Of course, _they_ thought it looked peculiar until four girls walked by in the opposite direction, covered head-to-toe in grey paint with bright orange and yellow horns sticking out of their heads and the most ridiculous purple and checkered costumes the brothers had ever seen. As they passed, one took a huge swig of a violently colored bottle of fizzy... something... and the others cheered in unison, "Hail to the Faygo!"

The Winchesters stopped worrying about looking weird walking down the sidewalks of Portland.

They passed by Pioneer Place, the main sort of shopping mall in the heart of downtown, and then stopped next to one of the many Starbucks so that Dean could figure out where they were going.

Sam groaned and felt like slamming his head against the bricks that were everywhere. "I thought you found it on a map?"

"I found it on this thing," Dean corrected, shaking his smartphone - one they'd only just been able to afford, and not something the brothers were used to having - about angrily. "It said Sixth and Broadway... I think."

Winchester the younger peered down the street and slapped a palm to his face in exasperation. "Dean, Sixth and Broadway run parallel to one another. There's no way something is on those streets."

"Well sue me, the maps on here fucked up," Dean snapped.

Sam rolled his eyes and opted for looking around for the Heathman instead. Unfortunately, since they were downtown, there were tall buildings all around them- and the hotel was only ten floors. "Did you at least find a picture of what it looks like?"

He turned around just in time to see Dean attempt to shake away his guilty expression, and his eyes narrowed.

"Don't look at me!" the older brother spluttered. "What were you doing all yesterday? You spent like six hours on that stupid laptop. You'd think you'd have found a picture or two."

Sam bristled defensively. "I was researching! I found-" He stopped suddenly, brow wrinkling, and Dean's anger was replaced by concern.

"Sammy?"

"That's..." Sam shook his head, blinking rapidly, scrunching up his entire face as he tried to recall what he'd been researching the day before. "I was... I don't-" He whipped around at the sound of a cough, and his eyes widened with horror as Lucifer waved a large foam finger in the air, grinning wildly, and then pointed the artificial appendage at himself.

"Oops."

"-ammy. Sammy!"

Hands grasped his shoulder and turned him around again, and suddenly Lucifer was gone and Dean was there, radiating concern and anxiety. "What's goin' on, Sammy? You're gonna freak out the locals."

As if on cue, more grey-painted be-horned girls walked by, and one of them made a peace sign and called out, "YEAH, LARPING!" in their general direction.

"Okay, take that back," Dean deadpanned, frowning after them. "What's LARPing?"

"Live Action Role Playing," Sam answered automatically, starting to shake off the fog of confusion.

His brother smiled at him warily. "Nerd." There was no real heat behind the taunt, however, and his hand remaining on Sam's shoulder didn't leave.

(Two guys holding hands and wearing rainbow suspenders over bare chests and bright red shorts gave them the Spiderman/surf's up hand gesture and grinned with a few winks. Dean pointedly ignored them.)

"Sorry," Sam muttered, brushing off the hand after another long minute of concentration. "I... I know I was researching yesterday, but I can't remember any of it." Hazel eyes met Dean's, wide and wet with the beginnings of panicked tears. "I can't remember any of it!"

"Shh, Sammy," Dean tried to soothe him, patting him on the back. "C'mon, we'll ask someone where the Heathman is. No biggie. They seem friendly if not total complete nutjobs here, so it'll be fine."

Sam took a moment to compose himself- _breathe in, breathe out, ignore Satan.._. And then nodded shakily.

Still watching his brother out of the corner of his eye cautiously, Dean cast his gaze about looking for a friendly face. He took back his words about 'friendly'. The only people within ten yards were three businessmen with an unhealthy amount of gel in their hair, grumbling and waving fat hands about; a barista smoking on her break and glaring at everyone that passed; a homeless man waving his hands around his head and mumbling about bugs; and six girls with heavy backpacks huddled in a circle giggling about something. Dean sighed. Take what you can get.

He walked towards the latter option, but Sam passed him quickly and reached them first, determination in his step - turning anger into fuel. Dean wasn't sure whether to feel proud that Sam was defying his hallucinations of Lucifer or nervous that it was sending him into such violent mood swings.

"Excuse me," Sam said kindly, tapping one of the girls on the shoulder. All six of them swung around to stare at him with wide eyes, and the younger Winchester tried desperately to keep calm and look cool- _don't be a creep, don't be a creep, don't be a creep..._

He misjudged their reaction as fear but was quickly proven wrong when one of them whistled quietly and another breathed just loud enough for him to hear, "Damn."

Sam flushed, and Lucifer wolf whistled behind his back. (And was ignored.)

"Er... Could you point me in the direction of the Heathman Hotel?" he continued politely, smiling as brightly as he could manage.

Several bobbleheaded nods answered him, but only one spoke up- the girl in the center, who the others had been clustering around, holding a jar of frosting and a spoon with a Monster energy drink tucked under her arm. (He observed absentmindedly that she was twitching.) "Thataway," she said confidently, pointing off to the left. "Main and Broadway. Watch out for Portlandstuck."

"And the LARPers," another said, beaming. Then she did a double-take and eyed Sam up and down. "Wait, are you a LARPer? I thought it was scifi..."

"They are meeting at the Heathman," yet another reminded her. "Hey! You could be those guys from that series, Super-"

Dean cut them off, grabbing Sam's arm and hauling them away. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Thanks for your help." They left the weird teenage girls behind, walking quickly towards Sixth and Main and not looking back.

"What the hell...?" Sam voiced.

"I don't know man, but I hate this city," Dean said fervently. "Remind me to burn every copy of those books we can find."

Sam agreed whole-heartedly.

Arriving upon the doorstep of the Heathman, the brothers took a moment to size it up. It wasn't a very large hotel: Only ten stories, including the ground floor, and then a basement. There was a man in uniform standing outside the glass doors, smiling at the people coming to and fro and directing bellboys to taking resident's bags.

"Welcome to the Heathman," the man said genially as the Winchesters approached. He bobbed his head, his fuzzy hat barely staying on.

"Thanks," Dean said warily.

There was an awkward pause, and the man raised an eyebrow. "... So? Are you here to stay in the hotel?"

"Yes." Sam stepped forward, ignoring Dean's muffled protest. "We didn't make any reservations, I'm afraid we didn't plan on staying in town, but there's a family emergency we have to see to and we heard that this was the best hotel in the city." He smiled.

The man beamed at them. "Of course! Well, go right in, and talk to Barbara at the front desk. She'll help you out." He winked and ushered them inside.

"What the hell was that?" Dean hissed, as soon as they were out of earshot.

Sam looked dazed, his eyes fixed on the far wall in a miles-away stare. "... What?"

"That! You just told the guy we're booking a room in an expensive hotel that is probably haunted! I thought we were just gonna talk to the people here and do some interviews?"

His brother seemed to slowly come back to Earth, blinking at his brother in confusion. "I didn't book us a room."

Dean sighed through his nose. "No, not yet, but we can't go back out the front door now without looking suspicious. You told the doorman we're staying."

"No I didn't," Sam protested.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "If this is a joke..."

"It's not a joke!" he insisted. "Dean, I have no idea what you're talking about. Why are we already inside the Heathman? I thought we were talking to the doorman?"

There was a long silence. Then, the obvious answer seemed to dawn on both of them at the same time, and Sam turned to glare at the potted plant behind them furiously. Dean surmised Lucifer was standing in front of it, and reluctantly dragged his brother back.

"Not here, Sammy," he said, though he ached to deal with this problem as soon as possible. "Let's book a room."

They headed over to the front desk, Dean all but leading his brother, seeing as Sam was preoccupied having a vicious-looking internal argument with Satan.

"Hello," the kindly old portly woman behind the desk said happily, turning around as they walked up. Dean spared a moment to be relieved that she hadn't seen Sam's little 'moment'. Not that he was ashamed of his brother, or embarassed on his behalf, but simple practicality: They'd be less likely to be trusted if people thought his little brother was a nutjob.

_My little brother is NOT a nutjob,_ Dean scolded himself. Aloud, he greeted the woman- Barbara, as both the doorman and her nametag said- "Afternoon. We'll take a room for two nights." _Might as well give ourselves some time to solve this case... if it's even a case at all._

"Right," she said, typing something into her computer. "Name?"

Dean cast about in his mind for whatever name they'd used last on their cards, pulling one out of his wallet. "... Brown." That's right, Sam had picked last, and while Dean always used rock aliases his little brother was far more cautious: Electing to use the most forgettable names possible so as not to rouse suspicion.

"Will that be a queen then?" she said merrily, not looking up from her screen.

Dean grit his teeth. Why did **everyone** always assume they were gay?

"It's alright, we see all sorts here," she continued, taking his hesitation for embarassment. "We have Pride parades all the time."

"Double," he said shortly, eyes narrowing. "We're brothers."

Perhaps he could have been nicer about it, but Sam was the polite one, and he was currently concentrating on not having a freak-out in the lobby for everyone to see. So Barbara just blinked owlishly, nodded, and entered the information. "Alright. Cash or credit?"

"Credit," he said tiredly, pushing his card over the table. She ran it, hummed, blinked at her screen, tapped a few keys... And just when Dean was getting anxious that the company had canceled their subscription already, she slid it back across the counter with two keys and another smile (more half-hearted this time) and said, "There you go. Have a nice day! Breakfast is served from eight thirty until ten thirty."

Dean nodded his thanks, swiping the card and keys and nudged Sam towards the elevator.

"What floor?" Sam had gathered enough awareness to clue in on Dean's last exchange with the desk attendant, and peered curiously over his shoulder with tired eyes at the keys.

"Sixth," Dean muttered. "Room thirteen. Which rooms did this alleged ghost fall past again?"

"Hank Donovue," Sam corrected automatically, as to the identity of their possible ghost. "I remember that much. The room numbers, though..." He hesitated.

Dean nodded and turned to him with narrowed eyes. "Yeah, about that. What the hell is going on?"

His little brother cast his eyes downwards to avoid his gaze. After a stalling moment, he simply said, "I don't know."

"Yeah? Well I don't like it," the elder commented darkly. "This is getting bad, man, if Lucifer can mess with your head. You don't remember talking to the doorman at all?"

"No!" Sam stressed, pouring on the puppy dog eyes, exhaustion hanging heavy about him. Dean caved instantly - he could never resist the eyes, goddamn it - and sighed.

"Alright, alright. We'll figure something out." The elevator dinged as they reached their floor and they moved slowly down the hallway, Dean surreptitiously fishing the EMF detector out of his pocket and sweeping it about the doorways as they walked. There were flashes here and there, but nothing decisive.

Not yet.

The room, once they'd unlocked it and entered slowly, was warm and furnished cozily: Armchairs and a small mantle, though there was no fireplace, and the whole room was colored in various shades of tan, white, and chestnut. Far better than their usual digs in crappy motel rooms.

"How are we gonna afford this?" Dean lamented. When no answer was forthcoming from Sam, who had flopped onto one of the soft beds with a happy sigh, he simply announced: "Vegas week'll have to come a bit early this year."

He swung the EMF around the room a few more times, then fell back onto the sheets himself. As soon as his tired achy muscles were pillowed by the heavenly mattress, he couldn't help echoing his brother's content.

There was a long pause in which both brothers simply rested their eyes, taking a minute not to stress about jobs and hunts and ghosts. Then, Sam broke the silence.

"Dude."

"Yeah?"

"The bags are still in the car."

"... Son of a-"

* * *

Yes, I did just put a Homestuck reference in there. Shout out to my friends reading this- hope you liked your little surprise! uwu

As I said above, there is much more to come! Expect the next chapter within a few days, but unfortunately not as quickly as this one.

R&R and concrit greatly appreciated!

- Folly


	3. Chapter 3

Alright, alright, an apology is in order to my good friend Mara: I know I said I'd write more and post a bigger chapter, but my school schedule is whacked and with final exams fast approaching the hours spent studying are ramping up. I'm finding less and less time to work on this, much to my dismay! And since the ending to this tidbit is so perfect, I've elected to keep it on its own.

So I suppose I'll extend that apology to all of my readers. Sorry this is all you get, hopefully there will be more tomorrow- depending on how much attention my teacher pays to my slacking off. ;)

Without further ado, the third chapter!

* * *

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey!"

Dean yanked open the curtains with a shit-eating grin, spouting several more happy-cheery wake-up calls for his unconscious brother's benefit. Sam didn't respond, just mumble something and twisted deeper in his blankets. (He'd only gone to sleep forty minutes before, but Dean didn't have to know that.)

"C'mon, we've got a ghost to hunt. Where's your enthusiasm?"

Sam finally lifted his head, blinking sluggishly at his brother. "Drowned outside in the rain."

Dean frowned. "What rain?" Last he'd checked, the night before, it was just bone-chillingly cold, not wet.

His little brother answered with a raised eyebrow and a pointed finger, and the elder Winchester finally peered out of the window he'd just opened.

"Son of a bitch." It was indeed raining, pouring down in sheets like the air had turned to water.

"Yup." Sam yawned and untangled his limbs from the sheets, hair floating around his head like a fluffy cloud. "S' been doin' that since four."

Dean glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Red numbers declared the time to be 9:27, and piecing together the puzzle, the older brother narrowed his eyes. "You were up at four?"

"I was up at eight," Sam corrected. "I had research to catch up on."

"Did you sleep at all?" Dean demanded.

Sam's guilty look told him everything he needed to know.

Dean sighed. "Damnit, Sam... twenty minutes doesn't count as _sleep_."

Sam bit his lip and turned away, glaring briefly at Lucifer as he passed across his line of sight, but there was no heat behind any of his actions. He had indeed gotten maybe twenty minutes, since at about eight o' clock the sun had come up and illuminated the rain still drizzling down and he'd told himself sternly that he did need some sleep. Then he'd spent another forty-five minutes trying desperately to knock himself out since Lucifer just _would. Not. Shut. Up. _And then finally at around nine his vision had gone blissfully black and the loud obnoxious rendition of 'I'll Make a Man Out of You' had abruptly cut off.

Looking back, he realized that the only possible explanation was that Lucifer had **let** him sleep, which started a sinking dread in the pit of his stomach that immediately squashed any hunger he'd felt earlier.

"Sam. Sam. **Sam**. Are you even listening to me?"

Snapping back to the present, and the other (real) occupant of the room, Sam blinked owlishly at his brother. "... Yeah."

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. "I give up on you. I'm limiting your caffiene intake after four cups, alright? And your bedtime is bumped up tonight."

"Bedtime?" Sam repeated, offended. "Dean, I'm not five!"

"No, you just act like it." Dean scowled and snatched up Sam's suit, hanging on a hook in the bathroom so that it wouldn't get wrinkled, throwing it in his brother's direction. He had already changed into his trousers and nice shirt, and reached for his tie (cursing it in several dead languages- it was the only time he bothered to pay attention to Latin aside from exorcisms) while Sam changed.

The younger brother blew an angry breath out his nose and changed quickly into the fed suit, sighing deeply as he attempted to comb through his unruly hair.

"Let me help you with that," Lucifer offered cheerily, popping up on the dresser in front of Sam. The hunter jerked in surprise, then glanced around to see if Dean had noticed. (He hadn't.)

"I don't need your help," he huffed as quietly as possible, glaring at the hallucination.

"Suuuure you don't," Satan drawled. He flicked his fingers, and Sam hissed in pain as his own hair set on fire like Dean's had yesterday in the car. Lucifer seemed fond of that particular trick.

This time Dean did notice, and turned around with a questioningly raised eyebrow. "You okay over there?"

"Fine," Sam muttered, glaring at Lucifer again and tugging his fingers through his hair quickly and roughly so that he wouldn't have to touch it long. _Not real not real not real notrealnotrealnotreal_

"You sure...?" His older brother wasn't very inclined to believe him so readily anymore. _Not that he ever really did,_ Sam grumped to himself. He mentally went over his 'Times Dean Has Ignored My Advice And I Was The One To Pay For It' list, still steadfastly ignoring Lucifer in the corner of his vision- though that was getting progressively harder, seeing as the devil was quite happily painting stick figures dying gruesome deaths with blood that seeped from his fingertips onto the wallpaper, all while singing _Deck the Halls._

Dean sighed, radiating enough annoyance to get Sam to pay attention. "You're not listening again."

"Yeah, yeah. What are we doing first?" He shook his head to hopefully straighten out the last of the bedhead hair.

"I just told you!" the elder hunter exclaimed.

_"Deck the halls with satanic scripture, falalalalalalalalala..."_

Sam had the grace to feel a bit guilty. "... Oh. Sorry. Just..." He waved a hand around vaguely. "Tired," he summed up lamely.

_"And the blood of little kittens, falalalalalalalala..."_

"Uh-huh." Dean eyed him up and down, and let out another gusty sigh. "You sure you're up for this hunt?"

_"Burn the building down to ashes, falalalalalalala!"_

"Yes!"

_"This is why we don't play with matches, falalalalalalalalalalalala!"_

"Then keep up." He grabbed their keys, tucked his gun into his waistband, and breezed out the door. Sam, however, lingered a moment.

He wanted a word with his hallucination.

"Listen," he hissed at Lucifer. "You can't keep distracting me on this job. I need to focus, okay?"

"But Saaammyyyyy," Satan whined.

Sam glared at him hard enough to stop a bear in its tracks.

"Fine... But only if you make me a deal."

Sam shook his head firmly. "No."

"Then I'll show you fifty different ways to tear someone's arms off, and use Dean for practice."

"No!" Sam bristled defensively. Lucifer raised an eyebrow at him, and after a long pause, the younger Winchester let out a big breath and slumped, swiping a hand over his face. He was too tired to keep this argument up. "Alright, alright, what's the deal?"

"I'll shut up, if... you let me help you." Then he beamed like it was the best deal he'd ever made.

Sam wrinkled his brow. "... Help... me?"

"Yes. Is it a deal?"

"Help me how?" Sam was suspicious, and rightly so.

"Uh-uh-uh. Part of the deal, you don't ask questions."

Sam wanted desperately to answer that with a rude word and several more arguments, when Dean's voice drifted from outside the closed door, weirdly muffled. "Sam! Get a move on!"

"Deal," he snapped. "But I will find a way to get rid of you if you turn on me."

"Sure thing, Sammy-O."

With that, the hunter grabbed his jacket and his badge, leaving the room in a flurry of apologies called down the hall.

Behind him, Lucifer grinned darkly, and disappeared.

* * *

Ooh, the plot thickens. ;D

R&R and concrit appreciated! Lurv ya,

- Folly


End file.
